[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080]William Harper[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]http://www.equilibriumfans.com/EquilibriumStill0055-ClericJohnPreston(ChristianBale).jpg[/img][hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] Personal Quarters --> En Route to Lounge [hr][/center]

	Harper had to assume that this unexpected visit wasn't for the purpose of inquiring into his dinner plans. Not that such an event was unheard of; he was a conventionally handsome man raised with good instincts for grooming and hygiene who, a lifetime ago, was financially stable and had excellent career prospects. Well, misplaced naivety certainly brought all of that to an abrupt, screaming halt. The last part, anyway; Liam was still an okay looking guy who kept up his appearance as the occasion called for it. Holdover from a Core World upbringing, most likely. Every second past that halcyon existence taught him the value of well placed cynicism and the benefits of the proper application of a blunt object. 

	All the same, it was highly unlikely that the presence of the Lady Bluegloves, or indeed the status of the entire ship suddenly going Black, had anything to do with him. Logically, it made zero sense. The authorities would rather just shoot someone than stage something this elaborate. It was incidental. A fluke. Considering that his freedom was due to an amazing set of circumstances that lined up at the proper time, and he personally took considerable risk to hop onto the opportunity provided, this whole scenario could even be listed (by the more spiritual types) as Destiny unfolding. 

	So why not? Maybe there was a thing which the Agent required the assistance of a skilled Pilot, Alliance Officer, or merely the fresh perspective of a new face on board. While trust (by no means) had been accomplished, Liam could benefit from some conversation and a tour of part of the ship. 

	[color=008080]"Miss, umm... Miss Lobo?"[/color] he began with a hint of uncertainty. To his experience, it was an unusual surname. He wrapped his speech around it deliberately, almost to the point of overpronunciation. [color=008080]"Yes, Ma'am. I'd be happy to be of help. Just a moment."[/color]

	Harper left the door partially open and took a step backwards. Turning to one side, he recovered the jar of preserved fruit he had opened earlier. He plucked out a couple of peaches and put away the remainder before turning his attention back to the lady in the hall. Exiting the room, he politely offered her a peach, nonchalantly confiding in her, [color=008080]"Could go for a coffee. You?"[/color] and motioning in the direction of the Lounge. Coffee, yeah. Liam could go for a blast of grain alcohol with what he just found out, and he wasn't exactly a heavy drinker. 

	As they began their short trek to the ship's Lounge one deck below, he opened conversation with, [color=008080]"Situation being what it is, maybe you can help [i]me[/i] figure something out, too. First, what did you want to speak about?"[/color]


[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=f9ad81]Foy  Coiffeur[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]https://snippetstudios.files.wordpress.com/2014/05/a-million-ways-to-die-in-the-west-640x350.png [/img][hr][b][color=f9ad81]Location:[/color][/b] Lounge [hr][/center]

	The request by his oldest friend to ready sidearms did more than simply pique Foy's interest. The Esteemed Mr. Coiffeur was generally always ready to throw himself into an event featuring violence; his training saw to it admirably. Even when his more genteel mannerisms were at the forefront (especially, sometimes), he was a breath away from either Thrilling Heroics or Aiming to Misbehave, depending upon his contract. What's more, Jahosafat knew this. If the good Doctor felt the need to [i]remind[/i] him to ready himself, this must surely be a noteworthy event unfolding before him. 

	The unfailing Gentleman, upon hearing his friend's words, stared at him piercingly - trying to catch any hint or glimmer of the man's feelings and motivation. During his lengthy gaze, he retrieved his large bore Derringers in quick release holsters and slapped them onto his forearms, then lowered his sleeves before extensive wrinkling set into the fabric. Not his primarily preferred method of throwing lead at those designated to receive it, but more than adequate to put down a threat in close quarters. To hear Jahosafat talk, he didn't want this particular close quarter target killed if they could help it. Still, there are very few places in a human body that you could put a .50 slug where it didn't cause catastrophic injury. 

	As the various safeties were removed from the case, Foy dramatically flexed his arms, prompting his two-shot sidearms to spring into his hands. Something akin to a smile crossed his face as he raised his diminutive but powerful weapons to either side of his head, then down toward the opening crate. Foy took up a sideways facing stance, waiting for the mist and cold to dissipate. 

	When it finally did, the Dapper Gentleman cleared his throat softly, and spoke in polite tones to Dr. Moreau, [color=f9ad81]"Apologies, old friend. I would be obliged were you to repeat your last intonation; I could not hear you over the sound of me forcibly soiling my undergarments. Come again?"[/color]